Mermaid

by Tom Lowe

  He stared at the tossing surf and thought about what Detective Lawson had said. ‘Could be connected to that Hollywood movie, Atlantis, they’re going to be shooting in Florida. Some of it is supposed to be filmed around here …. I read that some of the movie storyline has to do with mermaids. Maybe the girl was going to audition for a part. She could have been here practicing a swim before the storm.’

  Grant spotted something on the beach. At first he thought it was a discolored sand dollar. He reached in the inside pocket of his sportscoat, removed a plastic glove, kneeling down to pick up the object. It matched the same color of the mermaid’s tail, dark green. Grant opened a clean, white handkerchief, placing the rubber fish scale in the center and folding it. He looked up from the spot on the beach to the sand dunes near a public parking lot. Was this where the perp had carried the body? he asked himself. Maybe under the cover of darkness, dumping the dead girl on a deserted section of the beach.

  Grant put the folded handkerchief in his pocket and walked up the beach toward the lot. He was met by two TV news crews, their broadcast trucks in the lot. Cameras on tripods, microwave dishes aimed back to their studios. A female reporter, Megan Fisher, dark hair in a pixie cut, asked, “Detective Grant, can we get an interview with you?”

  “There’s not a lot to say at this point in the investigation.”

  She nodded. “I understand. I can be brief.”

  A lanky reporter from another TV station gestured to his cameraman to take their camera off the tripod and join the interview. “Mind if we stick a mic in here?” he asked, making a statement more than a question. “That way Detective Grant won’t have to spend time saying the same things twice.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Fisher said. She looked at Grant.

  He said, “Let’s make it quick.”

  With cameras rolling, Fisher asked, “Detective Grant, do you believe the body on the beach is the victim of a homicide?”

  “We don’t know the exact cause of death until the results of an autopsy are known.”

  “Did you see any signs of trauma to the body?”

  “No, not on the initial investigation.”

  The male reporter asked, “Could she have drowned in the ocean?”

  “Maybe. We don’t know that either.”

  “What about the mermaid costume?”

  “What about it?” Grant was in no mood to answer an inane question.

  The reporter made an awkward grin. “Let me rephrase the question. The body was found with a mermaid tail attached to it. Do you think that will play a key role in a murder investigation?”

  “If it proves to be a murder, it might.”

  Megan Fisher asked, “Do you think this, in any way, could be tied to the movie, Atlantis, about to start shooting in the area? There’s a casting call for young women who can play the roles of mermaids.”

  Grant tried not to frown. “At this point, that seems pretty farfetched, but I have no idea if there’s any connection. Right now, it’s all purely speculative. We should know more about that possibility as the investigation unfolds. What we do know is a dead girl was found on the beach, and it’s the job of this department to find out who or what killed her.”

  Fisher nodded. “I spoke earlier with the young woman who found the body, Savannah Nelson. She told us that when she finished surfing, she spotted the mermaid tail first, and when she approached the body, Savannah could see that the girl’s long hair looked like it was fanned out around her head, as if someone arranged it that way. What thoughts do you have?”

  “I have no thoughts about that. It’s too early to speculate. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

  • • •

  I swam slowly underwater toward the distressed manatee. I could hear it making a sound—a high-pitched shriek, almost like a baby bird in a nest squealing for food. I came to the surface less than ten feet from the manatee. The animal lifted its head above water at the same time. We were now face-to-face. The wet hyacinths were off its head, the manatee exhaling above the surface, in a guttural snort. I smiled, treading water. “It’s going to be okay, big fella. Let’s get that junk off you, all right?”

  I glanced back at my dock, Wynona anxious, looking from me to the other parts of the wide river. On alligator watch. She picked up Max, comforting her as I tried to console the manatee. I could see how the monofilament fishing line had cut into the flipper, a trace of blood oozing out of a wound. I smiled. “If you’ll hold still for a few seconds, I can cut that mess off of you.”

  The manatee stared at me. No sign of fear. Its face, lined with creases, looked as old as time itself. But it was the eyes that drew me to them. Gentle eyes. They stared at me with some form of ancient wisdom handed down through thousands of years that its forefathers had swam in the oceans and rivers of the world. I inched closer. “Hang with me up here. It won’t take long, and then you can be on your way.”

  The manatee stayed, keeping its head above the surface. I kept the knife under my belt. Not visible. I slowly lifted both hands. No fast movements. Slow and easy, trying not to startle the manatee. I used my left hand to caress the animal’s back, feeling one of the deep scars. I used my right hand to slide the knife out, now finding the nest of fishing line around its flipper. “Okay, here we go. Let’s get this off.”

  I submerged a foot under water. At the surface, the sunlight penetrated far enough for me to see the fishing line. I worked quickly, using the fingers of my left hand to gently pull the line, working with my right hand and the knife to slice through it. The manatee barely moved, seeming to know that I was trying to help. I held my breath, spotting a long garfish to my left. I cut through more strands of line, as if I was cutting through layers of an onion, peeling back to the tangled knots. At half a minute, I was still underwater, careful not to cut the manatee’s hide as I sliced through the strands of fishing line. At a minute under water, my lungs burned.

  I need a few more seconds.

  The manatee started to move.

  I caressed its back, reassuring the large animal. In the murky water, I could just see the last few strands of fishing line. I cautiously cut through them, the line falling off like a spider’s web knocked down and caught in a gust of wind. I grabbed the nest of line out of the current and came to the surface. The manatee looked at me through those mysterious and peaceful eyes. “It’s all gone now. You should be able to swim much easier.” It was as if the manatee barely nodded, blinking its black eyes once and turning away from me, heading toward the deeper water in the center of the river. I watched it for a moment.

  Wynona set Max down and applauded. “My hero. Now, will you please get out of the river before an uninvited gator decides to join the party?”

  SIX

  Three hours later, I’d showered and put on fresh shorts and a clean T-shirt. Wynona made a large garden salad, tomatoes picked from three plants we’d bought and tied to wooden stakes in the backyard, the plants now heavy with vine-ripe tomatoes. I walked into the kitchen as she was mixing and tossing the salad in a large bowl, a small flat-screen TV on behind her, sound barely audible. She looked up, smiling and asked, “Would you like chicken or tuna in your salad?”

  “Tuna, thanks.”

  Max stood next to her, waiting to catch any food offering that might come her way. Wynona wiped her hands on a white towel. “I’m going to mix a fresh batch of oil and vinegar dressing. We can eat on the porch. I was just thinking more about how you helped that poor manatee. When you first swam up to it … you were so slow and gentle in your approach. You spoke softly to it before you started cutting through the fishing line. In my heart, I know the manatee could see and feel your compassion. It was really something to witness. Anyone in the Seminole Tribe, especially the elders, would have been impressed. You are the manatee whisperer.” She tossed the towel at me and laughed so hard her eyes teared up.

  “Well, I did whisper. I’m not sure I speak manatee well. However, having
swam around them in the past, I know they don’t fear people. But they tend to move away when abruptly approached. I wanted the manatee to somehow feel or understand that I was there to do what I could to help. It was a nice sight, watching him or her paddle away, free of the tangled line, and start the journey down river. I was amazed that the manatee was here this time of the year, and right at the end of our dock.”

  Wynona mixed sea salt, pepper, and a touch of Herbes de Provence into the salad dressing. “I like the way you included me … our dock.” She put the wooden tongs down. “I believe it came here seeking help. You never know.” She smiled.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “I’ve got it, thanks. For once in my life, Sean, I’m having a real opportunity to be domesticated—to make meals I’ve always wanted to make, to read books I’ve always wanted to read.” She paused, looking out the window toward the river. “To sit by a beautiful river and have quiet time to think, and to be with the man I’ve always wanted to be with … but never knew it until the unexpected happened.”

  I said nothing, walking up to Wynona and softly kissing her lips. “Some of the best parts of life are never planned. They just happen. And when they happen well … it’s a gift.”

  She smiled. “I wasn’t looking for you. I wasn’t expecting you. Somehow you came into my life and changed it for the better. I’m not sure I believe in happy coincidences, but I believe that the force who lit the stars of the universe, left a nightlight on in my heart so I’d recognize you if you ever came along. So, I thank my lucky stars and the keeper of the universe for you.”

  “It’s mutual, and you’re right … unexpected. That’s the best part.”

  Wynona laughed and added more seasoning to the oil and vinegar dressing she was mixing in a glass bowl. “It’s sort of like going into a library and searching for a book you thought you wanted to read but finding that it was checked out. So, you pick another one and discover something you had no intention of reading. But, once you start, you can’t stop and become immersed in this new and beautiful world. You, Sean, are my twist-of-fate discovery, and this cabin—the lazy river, the land here, you and little Max are my new world that I love but never knew how or where to find it.”

  “And you are now the center of our universe.”

  Wynona stopped stirring the dressing, her eyes welling. “Don’t make me cry, okay? Excluding my mother, I don’t think I’ve ever been the center of anyone’s universe. It’s a new role for me. I just hope I don’t screw it up.”

  “You can’t screw it up. It’s not in you.” I hugged Wynona—her hands tight against my back.

  She pulled away, wiped her eyes with a paper napkin and smiled. “I have no idea how I’ve gone from a fearless FBI agent and police detective to a sensitive woman who now cries way too easily. Maybe it was the loss of our baby, but somehow something has changed inside me … or maybe, for the first time in my life, I can allow myself to feel vulnerable because I know I finally can with you.”

  I held her face in my hands and kissed her. “I’m here for you … and always will be.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded, licked her lips and pulled a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. She motioned to the TV screen. “What’s that? It looks like a news report of something that happened on a beach somewhere.”

  I watched the screen—the video was of CSI investigators behind yellow crime scene tape wrapped around wood stakes on a beach. The image cut to two men wearing windbreakers with the word Coroner on the back of the jackets, the men lifting a gurney with a body bag on it. I reached for the remote control and turned up the sound.

  A reporter’s voice-over narrative said, “At this point, detectives aren’t calling the death of the girl a homicide or an accidental drowning. But they are calling the scene puzzling because the body was found semi-nude with a mermaid tail attached from the waist down. A major Hollywood studio is in the area to begin filming a movie that involves mermaids in the storyline. We asked homicide detective Dan Grant if he thinks there may be a connection.”

  The video cut to an interview with Detective Dan Grant. “At this point, that seems pretty farfetched. I have no idea if there’s any correlation. Right now, it’s all purely speculative. We should know more as the investigation unfolds. What we do know is a girl was found dead on the beach, and it’s the job of this department to find out who or what killed her.”

  The images cut to a barrage of police cruisers in a beachside parking lot, palm trees in the perimeter, flashing emergency lights, and the coroner’s staff loading a body into a dark blue van. The reporter’s narrative continued. “The beach was said to have been almost deserted when the body was found. It was discovered as a tropical storm came through the area from Daytona down to Vero Beach. A young college student, Savannah Nelson, who is a world-class surfer, was out here riding some of the larger waves on the water minutes before she spotted something about a hundred yards away. At first, because of the fish-like tail, she thought a shark, or some other large fish, had washed up on the beach. But the closer she got, Nelson could begin to make out the body of a girl.”

  The scene cut to Savannah Nelson standing near a sand dune, wind in her hair, rolling surf in the background, her face tight—uneasy. “As I came closer, I hoped and prayed that she would be alive. When I got to her, I could tell she wasn’t breathing. Her long hair was fanned out around her head. It was like someone wanted her to look peaceful. But it was awful. Horrible. I’ll never, ever forget it.”

  “And no one else was on the beach at the time?” asked the reporter.

  Savannah shook her head. “No, not when I found her. But earlier I noticed a man had been watching me surf. I’m sort of used to that. He was standing way back in the dunes. Later, when I saw the threat of lightning and came ashore with my board, he was gone. That’s when I spotted the girl in the distance on the sand.”

  The video cut to the reporter standing in the beach parking lot, a sheriff’s car in the background. The reporter held a microphone and looked into the camera. “There are a lot of unanswered questions about this strange death. Why was the young woman partially nude and wearing a mermaid tail? And with no visible wounds on the body, detectives won’t venture as to what they believe is the cause of the girl’s death. They’re also working to discover her identity. The preliminary results of the autopsy are expected to be known tomorrow. From a stretch of beach near Ponce Inlet, Megan Fisher, Channel Three News. Now, back to you in the studio.”

  I muted the sound. Wynona folded her arms across her breasts. “What an awful story,” she said. “My heart goes out to the victim and her family. I can’t imagine her on the beach in a mermaid costume by herself. With the eyewitness saying the girl’s hair appeared to have been arranged around her head, to me, that suggests there is one very sick killer behind this death.”

  I looked through the screened porch down to the river, an osprey flying to the top of a cypress tree. I thought about the interviews I’d just watched. Wynona sat on one of the wooden bar stools next to the kitchen counter. “Sean, I’ve seen that look in your eye before. You’re already in deep thought—maybe you’ve moved into detective mode. Do you think it could have been an accidental drowning?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “The story is awful, but something about it struck you hard. What is it?”

  “I know the girl they interviewed. And I have an uneasy feeling she might be in serious trouble.”

  SEVEN

  Wynona used the remote to turn off the TV and said, “Let’s eat at the table on the porch. I want to hear why you think the girl interviewed might be in trouble.”

  I nodded. “Danger might be a better word.” We used the tongs to put salad in two bowls. Wynona also had toasted French bread and topped it with olive oil and parmesan cheese. We carried everything to the porch and sat at a round table with a spectacular view of the river. We ate in silence for a moment, Max sitting between our chairs, the long shriek from a limp
kin coming from the far side of the river.

  I looked across the table at her and said, “The detective that was interviewed, just looking at his face, I’d suggest that Dan Grant feels the same way you and I feel about the death of the girl.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Dan’s a friend. We’ve worked on a few cases together. A couple of years ago, one of the cases that tossed Dan and I together was in search of someone who was trying to frame my niece for murder.”

  “I remember you telling me about that … your niece had been traveling with a carnival—a relative you didn’t know you had at the time. As I recall, you have a lot of respect for the detective.”

  “He’s a stand-up guy. No nonsense and very thorough. He has a good eye for detail. As I mentioned, I know the girl interviewed, Savannah Nelson.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “Her dad’s a charter boat captain working out of Ponce Marina. He raised Savannah by himself after his wife died of cancer. He did a remarkable job. She turned out to be a fine young woman with a good heart, and she’s a steward of the ocean. Last I heard, she was going to study marine biology at a college somewhere here in Florida.”

  “The news story indicated that she surfs.”

  I smiled. “If there ever was a young woman connected to the sea, it’s Savannah. She grew up on and around the beach. She can ride a longboard with the best of the best. But more than that, she has a deep respect for the ocean and the sea life in it. I feel bad that she was the one who found the body. A few years ago, Savannah told me something I’d never forget.”

  “What was it?” Wynona ate her salad and sipped fresh brewed hot tea.

  “She told me that one of the reasons she so loved the ocean was because of her mom. She said, when her mother was pregnant, she’d wade and swim in the sea as often as she could. Savannah said her mom would float on her back, ears submerged in the sea, staring up at the clouds and gulls, asking the ocean to whisper what she should name the baby.”